A Lucky Man

I look at my skin which has lost of its elasticity of youth. I think about my long gone missing teeth and the dentures that have taken their place. My lost muscle tone and the tight buttocks that women told me were so attractive have long gone as have most of those women, for few women, never mind men, live to my age. At a hundred and five, despite my good health, and reasonable faculties, I am an old and decrepit man staring death in the face because my heart is finally giving way to time. I have at most three months left, and you can’t imagine how grateful I was to receive that information.

Many of the men I knew who have been dead many a year would have paid a long price to have had my life, yet I could only wish it on those whom I hated the most, those who had no idea that I was never truly a man, and whose idea of what constituted masculinity I found totally repugnant. It was not just that I found the idea of manhood repellent for myself it was their concept of manhood that I considered to be to be indicative of a subhuman mentality from what ever point of view, male, female or anywhere in between, one considered it. As a boy I suffered. As a teenager I suffered more. As a young man I leant to endure the pain that was life. After that I was closed to others and became a total recluse. For many reasons suicide was not an option for me, but I’ll be honest, I prayed for a short life, but it was not to be. All my life folk thought I was lucky to be me, clever, well connected, and a high earner, a self made millionaire, a man chased by women desirous of giving me whatever I desired to be my wife. Death will be a welcome release, for all I have ever wished was to be the wife of a kind man.